Murder at the Royal Ruby

by Nita Prose

I am just an usher, no one special, at least not yet. But mark my words: one day, I’m going to be a star.

The Ruby knows everything and yet divulges nothing.

A few years ago, when I told my parents I wanted to study acting after high school, my dad nearly spat out his dinner at the table. “That’s impossible,” he said. “Not with . . . that.” He pointed his fork at the blemish on my face, as if I didn’t know exactly where it was, as if I didn’t suffer it every day of my life.

“Vanessa said no,” I say to Eleanor’s portrait, because I can’t bear to look Alice in the eye.